sk.dreamcatcher-第113部分

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racked　panes　in　the　upper　half　of　the　window　hung　over　the　lower　half　like　a　cut…rate　guillotine；　but　he　paid　no　attention　to　these　things。　Nor　did　he　sense　that　Jonesy　had　finally　left　his　bolt…hole；
　　　　Mr　Gray　squirmed　in　through　the　window；　landed　on　the　cold　concrete　floor；　and　looked　around。
　　　　He　was　in　a　rectangular　room　about　thirty　feet　long。　At　the　far　end；　a　window　which　no　doubt　would　have　given　a　spectacular　view　of　the　Reservoir　on　a　clear　day　showed　only　white；　as　if　a　sheet　had　been　tacked　over　it。　To　one　side　of　it　was　what　looked　like　a　gigantic　steel　pail；　its　sides　speckled　with　red　…　not　byrus；　but　an　oxide　Jonesy　identified　as　'rust'。　Mr　Gray　didn't　know　for　sure　but　guessed　that　men　could　be　lowered　down　the　shaft　in　the　bucket；　should　some　emergency　require　it。
　　　　The　iron　cover；　four　feet　across；　was　in　place；　seated　dead　center　in　the　middle　of　the　floor。　He　could　see　the　square　notch　on　one　side　of　it　and　looked　around。　A　few　tools　leaned　against　the　wall。　One　of　them；　in　a　scatter　of　glass　from　the　broken　window；　was　a　crowbar。　Quite　possibly　the　same　one　the　Russian　woman　had　used　as　she　prepared　for　her　suicide。
　　　　Way　I　heard　it；　Mr　Gray　thought；　the　folks　in　Boston'll　be　drinking　that　last　byrum　in　their　morning　coffee　right　around　Valentine's　Day。
　　　　He　seized　the　crowbar；　limped　painfully　to　the　center　of　the　room　with　his　breath　puffing　cold　and　white　before　him；　then　seated　the　spatulate　end　of　the　tool　in　the　slot　of　the　cover。
　　　　The　fit　was　perfect。


11

Henry　racks　the　telephone；　takes　in　a　deep　breath；　holds　it　。　。　。　and　then　runs　for　the　door　which　is　marked　both　OFFICE　and　PRIVATE。
　　　　'Hey！'　old　Reenie　Gosselin　squawks　from　her　place　at　the　cash…register。　'e　back　here；　kid！　You　can't　go　in　there！'
　　　　Henry　doesn't　stop；　doesn't　even　slow；　but　as　he　goes　through　the　door　he　realizes　that　yeah；　he　is　a　kid；　at　least　a　foot　shy　of　his　final　height；　and　although　he's　wearing　specs；　they're　nowhere　near　as　heavy　as　they　will　be　later　on。　He's　a　kid；　but　under　all　that　flopping　hair　（which　will　have　thinned　a　bit　by　the　time　he　hits　his　thirties）　there　is　an　adult's　brain。　I'm　two；　two；　two　mints　in　one；　he　thinks；　and　as　he　bursts　into　Old　Man　Gosselin's　office　he　is　cackling　madly　…　laughing　like　they　did　in　the　old　days；　when　the　strands　of　the　dreamcatcher　were　all　close　to　the　center　and　Duddits　was　running　their　pegs。　I　almost　busted　a　gut；　they　used　to　say；　I　almost　busted　a　gut；　what　a　fuckin　pisser。
　　　　Into　the　office　he　goes；　but　it's　not　Old　Man　Gosselin's　office　where　a　man　named　Owen　Underhill　once　played　a　man　whose　name　was　not　Abraham　Kurtz　a　tape　of　the　grayboys　talking　in　famous　voices；　it　is　a　corridor；　a　hospital　corridor；　and　Henry　is　not　in　the　least　surprised。　It's　Mass　General。　He's　made　it。
　　　　The　place　is　dank；　colder　than　any　hospital　corridor　should　be；　and　the　walls　are　splotched　with　byrus。　Somewhere　a　voice　is　groaning　I　don't　want　you；　I　don't　want　a　shot；　I　want　Jonesy。　Jonesy　knew　Duddits；　Jonesy　died；　died　in　the　ambulance；　Jonesy's　the　only　one　who　will　do。　Stay　away；　kiss　my　bender；　I　want　Jonesy。
　　　　But　he　will　not　stay　away。　He　is　crafty　old　Mr　Death　and　he　will　not　stay　away。　He　has　business　here。
　　　　He　walks　unseen　down　the　corridor；　where　it's　cold　enough　for　him　to　see　his　breath　puffing　out　in　front　of　him；　a　boy　in　an　orange　coat　he　will　soon　outgrow。　He　wishes　he　had　his　rifle；　the　one　Pete's　Dad　loaned　him；　but　that　rifle　is　gone；　left　behind；　buried　in　the　years　along　with　Jonesy's　phone　with　the　Star　Wars　sticker　on　it　（how　they　had　all　envied　that　phone）；　and　Beaver's　jacket　of　many　zippers；　and　Pete's　sweater　with　the　NASA　logo　on　the　breast。　Buried　in　the　years。　Some　dreams　die　and　fall　free；　that　is　another　of　the　world's　bitter　truths。　How　many　bitter　truths　there　are。
　　　　He　walks　past　a　pair　of　laughing；　talking　nurses　…　one　of　them　is　Josie　Rinkenhauer；　all　grown　up；　and　the　other　is　the　woman　in　the　Polaroid　photograph　they　saw　that　day　through　the　Tracker　Brothers　office　window。　They　don't　see　him　because　he's　not　here　for　them；　he　is　in　the　dreamcatcher　now；　running　back　along　his　strand；　running　toward　the　center。　I　am　the　eggman；　he　thinks。　Time　slowed；　reality　bent；　on　and　on　the　eggman　went。　　　　
　　　　Henry　went　on　up　the　corridor　toward　the　sound　of　Mr　Gray's　voice。


12

Kurtz　heard　it　clearly　enough　through　the　shattered　window：　the　broken　stutter　of　automatic…rifle　fire。　It　provoked　an　old　sense　of　unease　and　impatience　in　him：　anger　that　the　shooting　had　started　without　him；　and　fear　that　it　would　be　over　before　he　got　there；　nothing　left　but　the　wounded　yelling　medic…medic…medic。
　　　　'Push　it　harder；　Freddy。'　Directly　in　front　of　Kurtz；　Perlmutter　was　snoring　ever　deeper　into　his　a。
　　　　'Pretty　greasy　underfoot；　boss。'
　　　　'Push　it　anyway。　I've　got　a　feeling　we're　almost…'
　　　　He　saw　a　pink　stain　on　the　clean　white　curtain　of　the　snow；　as　diffuse　as　blood　from　a　facial　cut　seeping　up　through　shaving　cream；　and　then　the　ditched　Subaru　was　right　in　front　of　them；　nose　down　and　tail　up。　In　the　following　moments　Kurtz　took　back　every　unkind　thought　he'd　had　about　Freddy's　driving。　His　second　in　mand　simply　twisted　the　steering　wheel　to　the　right　and　punched　the　gas　when　the　Humvee　started　to　skid。　The　big　vehicle　took　hold　and　leaped　at　the　break　in　the　road。　It　hit　with　a　tremendous　jouncing　crash。　Kurtz　flew　upward；　hitting　the　ceiling　hard　enough　to　produce　a　shower　of　stars　in　his　field　of　vision。　Perlmutter's　arms　flailed　like　those　of　a　corpse；　his　head　snapped　backward　and　then　forward。　The　Humvee　passed　close　enough　to　the　Subaru　to　tear　the　doorhandle　off　the　car's　passenger　side。　Then　it　was　bucketing　onward；　now　chasing　a　single　pair　of　relatively　fresh　tire　tracks。
　　　　Breathing　down　your　neck　now；　Owen；　Kurtz　thought。　Right　down　your　everloving　neck；　God　rot　your　blue　eyes。
　　　　The　only　thing　that　worried　him　was　that　single　burst　of　fire。　What　was　that　about？　Whatever　it　was；　it　wasn't　repeated。
　　　　Then；　up　ahead；　another　of　those　blotches　in　the　snow。　This　one　was　olive…green。　This　one　was　the　other　Hummer。　They　were　gone；　probably　gone；　but…
　　　　'Lock　and　load；'　Kurtz　said　to　Freddy。　His　voice　was　just　a　trifle　shrill。　'It's　time　for　someone　to　pay　the　piper。'


13

By　the　time　Owen　got　to　the　place　where　East　Street　ended　（or　turned　into　the　northeast…meandering　Fitzpatrick　Road；　depending　on　your　interpretation）；　he　could　hear　Kurtz　behind　him　and　guessed　that　Kurtz　could　probably　hear　him；　as　well　…　the　Humvees　weren't　as　loud　as　Harleys；　but　they　were　a　long　way　from　quiet。
　　　　Jonesy's　footprints　were　entirely　gone　now；　but　Owen　could　see　the　path　which　led　down　from　the　road　and　along　the　shore　of　the　Reservoir。
　　　　He　killed　the　engine。　'Henry；　it　looks　like　we're　walking　from　h…'
　　　　Owen　stopped。　He　had　been　concentrating　too　hard　on　his　driving　to　look　behind　him　or　even　check　the　rearview　mirror；　and　he　was　unprepared　for　what　he　now　saw。　Unprepared　and　appalled。
　　　　Henry　and　Duddits　were　wrapped　in　what　Owen　first　believed　was　a　terminal　embrace；　their　stubbly　cheeks　pressed　together；　their　eyes　closed；　their　faces　and　coats　smeared　with　blood。　He　could　see　neither　of　them　breathing　and　thought　they　had　actually　died　together　…　Duddits　of　his　leukemia；　Henry　perhaps　of　a　heart　attack　brought　on　by　exhaustion　and　the　constant　unrelieved　stress　of　the　last　thirty　hours　or　so　…　and　then　he　saw　the　minute　twitch　of　the　eyelids。　Both　sets。
　　　　Embracing。　Splattered　with　blood。　But　not　dead。　Sleeping。
　　　　Dreaming。
　　　　Owen　started　to　call　Henry's　name　again　and　then　reconsidered。　Henry　had　refused　to　leave　the　pound　back　in　Jefferson　Tract　without　freeing　the　detainees；　and　although　they'd　gotten　away　with　that　once；　it　had　only　been　through　the　sheerest　luck　。　。　。　or　providence；　if　you　believed　that　was　any　more　than　a　TV　show。　Nevertheless；　they　bad　gotten　Kurtz　on　their　tail；　Kurtz　had　hung　on　like　a　booger；　and　now　he　was　a　lot　closer　than　he　would　have　been　had　Owen　and　Henry　simply　crept　away　into　the　storm。
　　　　Well；　I　wouldn't　change　that；　Owen　thought；　opening　the　driver's　door　and　getting　out。　From　somewhere　north；　away　in　the　white　blank　of　the　storm；　came　the　scream　of　an　eagle　bitching　about　the　weather。　From　behind；　south；　came　the　approaching　racket　of　Kurtz；　that　annoying　madman。　It　was　impossible　to　tell　how　close　because　of　the　fucking　snow。　ing　down　this　fast　and　hard；　it　was　like　a　sound…baffle。　He　could　be　two　miles　back；　he　could　be　a　lot　closer。　Freddy　would　be　with　him；　fucking　Freddy；　the　perfect　soldier；　Dolph　Lundgren　from　hell。
　　　　Owen　went　around　to　the　back　of　the　car；　slipping　and　sliding　in　the　snow；　cursing　it；　and　popped　the　Humvee's　back　gate；　expecting　automatic　weapons；　hoping　for　a　portable　rocket…launcher。　No　rocket…launcher；　no　grenades；　either；　but　there　were　four　MP5　auto…fire　rifles；　and　a　carton　containing　long　banana…clips；　the　ones　that　held　a　hundred　and　twenty　rounds。
　　　　He　had　played　it　Henry's　way　back　at　the　pound；　and　Owen　guessed　that　they　had　saved　at　least　some　lives；　but　he　would　not　play　it　Henry's　way　this　time　…　if　he　hadn't　paid　enough　for　the　Rapeloews'　goddam　serving　platter；　he　would　simply　have　to　live　with　the　debt。　Not　for　long；　either；　if　Kurtz　had　his　way。
　　　　Henry　was　either　sleeping；　unconscious；　or　joined　to　his　dying　childhood　friend　in　some　weird　mind…meld。　Let　it　be；　then。　Awake　and　by　his　side；　Henry　might　balk　at　what　needed　to　be　done；　especially　if　Henry　was　right　in　believing　his　other　friend　was　still　alive；　hiding　out　in　the　mind　the　alien　now　controlled。　Owen　would　not　balk　。　。　。　and　with　the　telepathy　gone；　he　wouldn't　hear　Jonesy　pleading　for　his　life　if　he　was　still　in　there。　The　Glock　was　a　good　weapon；　but　not　sure　enough。
　　　　The　MP5　would　rip　the　body　of　Gary　Jones　apart。
　　　　Owen　grabbed　one；　plus　three　extra　clips　which　he　stuffed　into　his　coat　pockets。　Kurtz　close　now　…　close；　close；　close。　He　looked　back　at　East　Street；　almost　expecting　to　see　the　second　Humvee　materializing　like　a　green…brown　ghost；　but　as　yet　there　was　nothing。　Praise　Jesus；　as　Kurtz　would　say。
　　　　The　Hummer's　windows　were　already　glazing　over　with　snow；　but　he　could　see　the　dim　shapes　of　the